XXX CHAPTER 8 XXX

A flock of butterflies beat their wings against the walls of Emmett's stomach as he turned toward the door. The pair of them in their Mariners caps and matching white, button-down jerseys made Emmett smile. He couldn't discern much more than tall, lean figures from across the room, two caps turning left and right, scanning for Emmett. As he stepped out of the shadows and walked toward his guests, Emmett could distinguish the younger man's features from the proud father angled behind him, taking a back seat to his son's special moment.

Damn . . . Did that crazy hair poking out from under his cap have a reddish tint to it? Every step brought new details into focus, and by God, Emmett needed the whole damn picture. He picked up speed, jogging toward the Cullens with his heart in his throat.

Turn this way and show me your eyes, Emmett willed him, but as he drew closer, Emmett realized that Edward Cullen was taking his sweet, damn time surveying the locker room. In fact, the guy didn't seem all that interested in finding anyone in particular.

What did you expect from the gay man with a locker room fetish? Emmett chuckled in pure amusement as he closed in on Edward's unconcealed glee; the guy had a grin about a mile wide. Fucking hell, he is adorable!

The doctor spotted Emmett first, smiled, and pointed Edward's shoulders head-on for Emmett. Edward's eyes popped wide open as they landed on Emmett for the first time, giving Emmett a clear view and good, long look at the face he'd only seen in his imagination. Warm, gold-splattered hazel eyes sat deep beneath a pair of bushy, dark auburn brows, while a long, broad nose cut a separation between the warring almond-shaped eye on one side and wispy, hooded feather on the other. The only symmetry to be found was the picture-perfect set of slightly bowed, delicate lips sitting above a chin that could have been squared off with a ruler. Who gave all those random parts the right to align into a devastatingly gorgeous face?

As he closed the distance between them, Emmett extended his right hand, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. He unleashed his smile and shot his victim with it right between those mismatched eyes. "You must be Edward."

Edward turned bright red and swiped off his cap like a guy who realized one beat into the "Star-Spangled Banner" that he still had it on. Long, sexy fingers raked through the mad nest that shook out while Edward took a deep breath and a sharp swallow. Bobbling his hat and program—and dear Lord, the man had a mitt!—into his left hand, Edward clasped Emmett's hand.

"Yes." He barely managed to force out the word but continued after clearing his throat. "Wow, I can't . . ." Edward shook his head and chuckled at himself. "I apologize for acting like a star-struck idiot. I didn't want to be 'fan boy.' It's just . . . I'm shaking hands with the best pitcher in the league . . . I mean, I'm shaking the actual hand that throws the pitches!"

Despite himself, Emmett's cheeks heated up at the oozing exaggerations.

Edward's smile fell. "Oh god, am I embarrassing you?"

"No, son," his father chimed in with a gentle chuckle, "you're only embarrassing yourself."

"You're fine," Emmett said, "though I'm not so sure 'best pitcher' is one hundred percent accurate."

Shy Edward left the building, and in his place, a fully animated, confident man took Emmett to task. "Okay, even without recalculating for the blatant error costing you your perfect game," he began with a dramatic eye roll, "your strikeout-to-walk ratio is highest in the league, and your WHIP is the lowest."

His father leaned forward and grinned. "Never argue with a mathematician."

Emmett shook his head as somberly as he could without laughing. "I wouldn't dare."

"Anyway," Edward said, "you pitched a great game tonight."

"Thanks." Holding onto the handshake, Emmett added, "It's nice to finally meet you in the flesh."

"Same here, obviously." So much for confident Edward; the moment the conversation veered from numbers, he became flustered and had to clear his throat again. "Oh, this is my dad, Carlisle." Edward angled his head toward his father. "Dad, meet Emmett McCarty."

Carlisle nodded and gave his son a gentle nudge. "I'd love to, son, if you could manage to release the man's hand?"

"Oh god, shoot me now," Edward said as he loosened his grip.

Emmett chuckled lightly. "Very nice to meet you, Carlisle. I understand I have you to thank for your son's loyalty."

"Oh, did he tell you that?" Carlisle's laugh was crisp and clear and completely uninhibited. It seemed of the three of them, Dr. Cullen was the only one at ease. "It's true I passed down my love for the game of baseball, but as for my son's passion for you in particular, I'm afraid I can't take an ounce of credit for that. That's all on you."

Edward was squirming worse than a runner caught between second and third, yet he wasn't even trying to deflect the conversation. He was clearly embarrassed but somehow managed to be utterly unapologetic for his slavish devotion. This man seemed incapable of hiding his feelings. His heart wasn't just on his sleeve; it was splattered all over the poor guy's body—in the eyes darting away and returning to Emmett, the fingers tugging at his tortured head of hair, the cheeks sinking against perfect, high bones as he sucked them toward the center of his mouth.

Emmett was charmed. In a world filled with posers, Edward was a man who put it all out there. His very next thought punched him in the gut: Could an honest man like Edward Cullen ever respect a liar like Emmett McCarty?

"Speaking of what's on me and what's on you, would you mind . . .?" Emmett spun his finger in a small "turn around" motion in the air.

"What? You wanna see my back?"

"Mmhmm." Emmett was grinning ear to ear.

"Oh brother! Fine." Edward huffed, blushed all over again, and dumped everything he was holding in his father's arms. Raising his arms out to his sides, he made a slow spin until his back was facing Emmett. Peering back over his shoulder, Edward asked, "Are we happy now?"

As a matter of fact, yes, Emmett was thinking. We are so very happy now. This was insanity. In the past four years, the MLB had sold over 6,000 official jerseys with his name and number on the back, and Emmett had never given it a second thought. But this particular "McCarty" on this particular person's back was doing all kinds of things to his insides. Before he realized what was happening, Emmett had stepped closer and plucked up the fabric at Edward's shoulder.

"C'mon. I had to check," he said. "It even looks clean. Must be laundry week."

Edward smiled at their private joke. "Well, I wanted to impress you."

"Mission accomplished." Fuck, Emmett was getting giddy here. "So, I believe I promised you two a tour?"

Edward cleared his throat. "If it's not an inconvenience."

Emmett chuckled. "This place isn't exactly the Palace of Versailles. The VIP tour only lasts about, oh, five minutes. Then again, you're the first person I've ever given a tour, so I might be off a minute or two."

"One isn't exactly a statistically significant sample size."

Carlisle slapped a palm to his forehead, and Edward gave him an apologetic shrug. Oh, Jasper would have a field day with this father-son pair.

"Come on, Professor," Emmett said. "Let me show you where the magic happens."

"Oh, we're back to 'Professor' again, are we?"

Edward's grin stretched from ear to ear, and Emmett couldn't help but smile back. His heart felt as though it could've sailed out of his chest and floated to the ceiling. Could it really be this easy and enjoyable to be with someone?

"Follow me," he said, leading them first to his locker. "Here we are, home sweet home."

"Wow. Nice," Edward said, reaching out to touch the solid maple shelves. "Sorry, is it okay if I . . .?"

"Knock yourself out." Emmett stepped aside and stared as Edward's palm rushed across the surface. The man was so damn reverent, it was humbling.

Edward's gaze wandered slowly around the space as if he were committing each angle to memory. His eyes lit up as they landed on Emmett's jersey, hung on the outermost hook, declaring his space. Grinning back at Emmett, Edward said, "Hey, look! We match."

Emmett had to pretend to cough to cover up his laughter, but Edward seemed not to notice or care.

"Would it be too much to ask for a picture with my dad?" Edward dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Sure thing."

Edward typed in some lengthy password—probably the square root of pi—and handed the phone to Emmett. Daddy C stepped into place, and the two threw their arms around each other's shoulders.

"Ready?"

"Oh wait, hang on." Edward pushed his hair out of his eyes and pulled on his cap. "Okay, ready."

"One, two, three, say, 'Seeeeeeee-attle.'"

Emmett snapped the picture and checked the screen to make sure he hadn't fucked it up. "You two look pretty good in my locker," he joked.

"I bet you'd look better," Carlisle said. "Here, switch places with me, would you?"

"Oh, uh . . . I feel a bit underdressed here." Emmett glanced down at his bare belly, then over at Edward. "You want me to put my shirt on?"

Emmett had never seen a person blush a brighter shade of red. Goddammit, he is fucking irresistible! Edward's jaw dropped open, but no words came out.

His father jumped in to save the day. "You're fine—as long as you don't mind, Emmett."

You're trending on Twitter. This was the kind of stunt one of the flashier guys might pull, someone who wanted to appear on Calvin Klein billboards in boxer briefs. "Come to think of it, maybe this isn't such a hot idea," he said. "I wouldn't want something like this to hit the internet." People might get the right idea.

All the color drained out of Edward's cheeks, and hurt settled behind his eyes. "I would never do that to you."

Crap. Edward hadn't shared one hint of their private conversations, and he didn't deserve Emmett's mistrust. "I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't."

Emmett shimmied into the spot where Carlisle had been. Because he knew Edward wouldn't make the first move, Emmett reached his arm around Edward's waist and whispered, "Sorry about the smell," into his ear.

Carlisle snapped the picture just as Edward burst out laughing. "I really couldn't care less," he answered.

Grinning like a loon, Emmett said, "Oh yeah?" and raised his arm around Edward's shoulders. "How about now?"

Edward turned his head so they were practically nose to nose. Returning the gesture and pulling Emmett in even closer, he answered, "Still not a problem," with a sly smirk of his own.

The flash went off, catching the two of them in their moment of unguarded joy.

"Do you think your dad knows the trick about warning people when he's about to take a picture?"

"Yes, I just don't think he cares."

They shared a chuckle, ignoring the flash that captured them again. "Maybe we should look at the camera, just once?"

Edward shrugged. "Sure."

"Okay, here we go," Emmett said, preparing to tear himself away from Edward's huge smile and bright, glinting eyes. "On the count of three . . . one, two, three!"

"That's a keeper," Carlisle said, smiling as he handed the phone back to his son.

"Let's move on; believe it or not, there are actually more interesting things to see than my locker." Emmett dropped his arm with no small measure of reluctance and started toward the gym. "So . . . obviously the room with all the bright, shiny machines would be our workout room, and over here's the—" Edward's head swiveled around as Darryl Bender stepped out of the shower and tucked a towel around his waist—"shower."

"Edward and Carlisle Cullen, meet Darryl Bender. Darryl, say hello to my friends."

"Oh, right. Mac's stats guy, right?"

Edward stepped forward with an outstretched hand and a beaming smile. "Yes, that would be me."

"Cool. Did you happen to see that strike they called on me in the fourth inning?"

"Yes," Edward said. "Terrible call."

"Right?" Bender nodded, shooting Emmett a told-you-so face. "So, let's say, for argument's sake, I would've hit, oh, a double there instead. What would that make my slugging percentage?"

Emmett stepped between them, physically breaking their connection. "Give the guy a break, Bent. He didn't come here to do math." And he's mine.

"It's fine," Edward answered. "I don't mind, but I don't have that answer at my fingertips. I'd have to go home and work it out for you."

Emmett stared angry laser beams into Bender's eyes, and thick as the guy was, he got the message. "Well, if you get a chance, that'd be cool. I don't want to keep you. Enjoy your visit."

Waiting until Bender was out of earshot, Emmett leaned in and said to Edward, "You do realize everyone on this team would have you crunching their numbers night and day if you let them."

Edward shrugged. "I really don't mind. I don't start my job until August."

Emmett was at a loss. "Suit yourself. Here, I thought you might like to see the trainers' room."

Three of Emmett's teammates were face-down on massage tables having their post-game kinks worked out. "Do you recognize any of those asses?" Emmett laughed at his own joke.

"Fuck you, Mac!"

"Hey, keep it clean. We have company," Emmett said, only half-kidding. "You see that big thug in the corner?"

Edward's gaze followed Emmett's chin. "Mmhmm."

"That's Trey. He does most of my work."

Without looking up from his work, Trey answered, "We drew straws, and I lost."

Emmett chuckled. "You can really feel the love in this room, huh? Well, I guess that's the end of the nickel tour, unless you guys want to see the toilets."

"Glad to see you're keeping it classy, Mac," Trey said.

"Always," Emmett said as he turned toward the door.

"Actually, I was wondering, any chance Doctor Khalfayan is here?" Carlisle asked.

One of the other trainers answered. "Sorry, man. He took off a little while ago."

"Ah, okay." Dr. Cullen looked like a little kid whose cotton candy got knocked off the stick.

"You need a consult or something, doc?" Emmett asked him.

Finally, a hint of embarrassment reached Carlisle's cheeks. "Nothing like that. I just wanted to tell him he's doing a great job."

Emmett glanced over at Edward, who was now granting his father that same mildly amused but supportive smile Carlisle had worn since the two arrived. There was something about the way these two interacted that made Emmett want to call his dad.

"Tell you what. I promise to pass that along when I see him next," Emmett said, giving Carlisle's shoulder a squeeze.

Edward gave Emmett a grateful smile, and the little group headed toward the exit.

"Edward, I feel kind of bad I don't have any souvenirs for you. Can I at least sign your jersey?"

"Yeah, sure. That'd be great." Edward dug a Sharpie out of his pocket and handed it to Emmett with a sheepish grin. "I was hoping."

Fucking irresistible. Emmett pulled off the cap. "Where do you want it?" It took all of Emmett's willpower not to wink, but Edward blushed anyway.

He seemed to consider many options before answering. "Better do it on my back, I guess."

Carlisle chuckled again as Edward turned around and waited. Emmett closed the gap between them, placing a hand on Edward's shoulder. "Top or bottom, my friend?"

Edward's answer came back a tight croak. "Surprise me."

Emmett smiled hard and clamped the lid between his teeth. Taking his sweet time, he smoothed the shirt across Edward's shoulders and started scrawling his name above "McCarty" on the jersey. Neither of them drew a breath until he'd finished and Emmett patted him on the back.

Edward half-turned and thanked him.

"Hang on, I'm not done yet." The smile on Edward's face just about killed Emmett as he squatted down and placed the marker just below the numbers. "Big Mac," he wrote in huge, unmistakable block print, underscoring the whole thing with a giant flourish. "Okay, now I'm done."

"What'd you do?" Edward asked, twisting and trying to read over his shoulder.

"I surprised you." Just like you surprised me.

"Okay. Thanks, I think?" Edward turned around.

"Doc C? You want one too?"

Carlisle handed him the program. "If you don't mind."

"My pleasure."

Carlisle shook Emmett's hand and thanked him again.

"Thanks for everything, Emmett. This really was the chance of a lifetime for me."

"So the locker room lived up to your dreams?" Emmett asked, teasing him.

"Yep," Edward said. "Everything did." He held Emmett's gaze so there could be no misunderstanding his meaning.

"I have to admit," Emmett said, "it was nice to be able to say whatever I wanted to you and not have to worry about limiting myself to 140 characters."

"Well, you know . . . nah, never mind."

"Never mind what?"

Edward fought with himself some more before coming out with it. "I could leave you my cell number, and if you ever wanted to text me . . . or call, I guess . . . totally up to you . . . I promise not to cut you off at 140 characters."

Texting Edward. Calling Edward. Yes, this was a grand idea. "Well, seeing as I don't have my cell on me at the moment . . . why don't you call me?

Edward's face looked pretty much the same as when he first walked into the locker room—like he'd just hit the walk-off home run in the last game of the World Series. He whipped out his phone so fast, Emmett was surprised it didn't go flying across the room. Trying hard not to laugh, Emmett dictated his phone number as Edward eagerly tapped in the digits.

"This right?" he asked, turning the phone so Emmett could see.

"It's MacPerfect."

Edward grinned. "Exactly what I'm putting in my contacts. And I have a couple of great pictures to choose from for the photo. Thanks for that too."

"Hey, send me one of those, would you?"

"Will do. Thanks again, Emmett."

"You can call me 'Mac' if you want."

"Mac." Edward tried it out, shaking his head like he couldn't believe his good fortune.

"Thanks again for coming by. It was great meeting you both."

Emmett extended his hand, and Edward was careful not to overstay his welcome in the handshake. "You have a good night, Emmett."

Emmett waited until they reached the exit before turning toward his locker and dropping his pants. Sure, he could've waited an extra two seconds to ensure they were out of visual range, but as he stripped down to his jock, there was a thrill in knowing that one peek backwards would've left very little to Edward's imagination.

Author's Note: There you have it—their first meeting. Did the locker room meetup live up to YOUR dreams? I'd love to know.
XXX ~BOH